


Off-kilter

by Somniare



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, It all depends on how you read it, It's tricky to warn for something that may or may not have happened, Lewis Frightfest 2015, M/M, Not a happy ending no matter which way you read it, Something's not quite right, This may be upsetting, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5107736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniare/pseuds/Somniare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>James tried to concentrate, to will the memories to form.  He saw the faces of Laura Hobson and Robbie as they stood on the bank.  Whatever Laura was saying, she’d made Robbie roll his eyes.  He remembered flaring white lights and the sound of shattering glass.  Then nothing.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off-kilter

**Author's Note:**

> I chose not to use warnings. Please read the tags. For a possibly spoilery tag for those who chose to read it, please see the end notes.
> 
> When I wrote this, life was throwing rotting onions at me -- nothing good can come from that.
> 
> All errors, flubs, and gaffes are mine.

* * *

 

James’s head throbbed.  He cautiously opened one eye.  When the light from the window opposite didn’t set him off moaning, he opened the other eye.  This had to be the worst hangover he’d had since…  Dear God, he couldn’t remember ever having anything this intense; his entire body ached.  He tried to recall what they’d done the night before, but his mind was blank.  Moving carefully and slowly, James rolled onto his back.

“What the hell did we…?”  James blinked at the empty bed beside him.  The covers had been thrown back and the pillow and mattress still bore the depression of their occupant’s head.  He listened for the sounds of Robbie in the bathroom.  In the year they had been together, he’d grown to appreciate the small familiar moments, sounds, and smells that reminded he was never alone.  The flat was unnaturally silent, except for a faint beeping coming from somewhere beyond the walls.

As James’s vision began to come into focus, he risked sitting up, slowly swinging his legs out of bed and onto the floor.  On the bedside table sat a packet of co-codamol and a bottle of water.

“Oh, bless you,” he whispered.  He popped two tablets from the packet, wincing at the crack of the tearing foil, and swallowed them down with half the water.  Then he closed his eyes and breathed slowly and deeply: in for five, out for five.  He counted out ten breaths, and opened his eyes.

The cream carpet beneath his feet was pristine, suggesting it had been recently vacuumed.  Given how busy they’d been, James had no idea when Robbie had managed that.  The bedside table was bare except for the bottle and the box.  James gingerly scratched the side of his head.  What had he done with the book he’d been reading?  And where was his phone?  He started to look around the room.  Red and black cloth cascaded off the chair by the window.  James’s eyes narrowed.

“Shouldn’t be there,” he muttered.  He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his fingertips over his eyes as hard his headache would allow.  Fleeting images of the previous night started to come back.

It was Halloween weekend.  He and Robbie were supposed to be off rotation, but a series of out-of-control parties had stretched the Oxfordshire Police to its limits.  As a result, they had been called shortly after midnight to attend a suspicious death by Magdalen Bridge.  A Halloween partygoer dressed as Dracula had been discovered floating face down in the Cherwell, trapped in place by the reeds.  Under the SOCO team’s portable floodlights, the red lining of his cape had rippled and rolled in the water.

James tried to concentrate, to will the memories to form.  He saw the faces of Laura Hobson and Robbie as they stood on the bank.  Whatever Laura was saying, she’d made Robbie roll his eyes.  He remembered flaring white lights and the sound of shattering glass.  Then nothing.

None of which explained James’s splitting head, or why Dracula’s cape was in his and Robbie’s bedroom.

He dragged his hands down his face and looked again at the chair.  His black suit trousers were draped over the arm and his jacket over the backrest.  The morning sun through the curtain laid a blaze of deep orange across the burgundy fabric of the chair, painting a red glow near the edges of the suit.  Not Dracula’s cape at all.

James rested his chin in his cupped hands.  His elbows dug into his lower thighs.  A hollow clatter drew his attention.  James glanced towards the bedroom door.

“Robbie?”

He could hear a truck reversing outside.  A car alarm sounded.  James’s body grew heavy and he fell back against the mattress.  Silence and darkness reclaimed his consciousness.

***

When James woke again, he was staring at the ceiling.  The light in the room told him the sun was much higher in the sky.  To his relief, the pain in his head had lessened somewhat, though a steady throb made him wary of moving too quickly.  Beyond the window, another large vehicle was reversing, with steady beeps marking its progress.  Roadworks?  James couldn’t remember any being scheduled nearby.  Was someone moving house?  There’d been a couple of ‘for sale’ signs up over recent months.

“Robbie?” James called softly.  Nothing.  He stretched out one hand across the bed to discover it had been made under him while he slept.  “You’re a man of hidden talents, Robbie Lewis,” he murmured softly, a small smile touching his lips.

James sat up slowly.  The bedside table now held only a glass of water, and James’s suit had been removed from the chair, which had been placed neatly against the wall.  He sensed movement beyond the bedroom, the feeling that people were walking past the window, which was ridiculous since they were up on the first floor.

“Robbie?”  Nothing.

“Monty?”  Silence.

James frowned.  Where _was_ Monty?  The cat was an opportunist, and he would happily curl up on the bed if there were a warm body to burrow himself against.  His absence was very unusual.

James felt a little steadier and stood up slowly with the intention of heading to the bathroom.  He was stopped by the sight of a vase of flowers on top of the chest of drawers.  They never had flowers or plants of any kind inside the flat as a rule, because Monty was far too fond of knocking over vases and eating the foliage and petals.

James took a step closer to the chest of drawers.  It was a simple white vase.  There was nothing distinctive about it, yet it felt familiar to James.  The bouquet was chrysanthemums and baby’s breath.  _Optimism and joy, and purity of heart,_ James immediately noted.  Beside it sat a small bear in a police uniform.  _A teddy bear?_   What _had_ happened last night?

James felt a fluttering in his chest.  Whatever was going on, he didn’t like it.  He wanted some answers and hoped Robbie had them.  “Robbie!” he called sharply, wincing at the sharp stabbing pain in his head.

Only the faint, pulsing rhythm of a distant siren answered him.

James made his way through the flat, passing by the front door.  Robbie’s coat was gone from its hook.  In the kitchen, the clock on the microwave showed 9am.  A cup, bowl, and spoon sat on the draining board.  Whatever had happened to James last night, it hadn’t been worrying enough to keep Robbie at home.  James’s shoulders sagged with relief.

He pulled one of the dining chairs away from the table and sank into it.  The sirens came closer.  James folded his arms on the table and lowered his head as sudden exhaustion overwhelmed him.

***

James slowly lifted his head.  Robbie was sitting on the opposite side of the table, staring sadly at him.

“Robbie?”

Robbie continued to stare silently.  James was shocked by his appearance.  Robbie looked like he hadn’t shaved for several days.  His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and dark purple circles touched the top of his cheekbones.  But that was impossible.  He’d looked fine yesterday.

“Robbie?  What’s happened?”

Overhead, the light ticked.  James glared up angrily.  He couldn’t remember having a fluorescent light over the dining table.

“I’m sorry, James.”  Robbie’s voice cracked.  “If I could go back and change what happened…but we can’t do that, can we?”

“What?”  James frowned.  “Change wh–?”

Robbie cut him off.  “It was a bloody hit and run.”  Robbie’s jaw was clenched tight.  “The car barely slowed down, and we still haven’t found the bastard that did it.”

James was confused.  He began to protest.  “But we did find Monk–”

“Oh, we found the car; it was abandoned by Bury Knowle Park.”  Again, Robbie continued as though he hadn’t heard James.  “Front passenger side caved in.  The bastard hit the bridge wall after he hit you–”

“Hit me?”  James stared in disbelief.

“–and damaged the radiator–”

“Robbie, what do you mean–”

“Forensics have gone over–”

“–by ‘hit me’?  You’re–”

“–the car but the only prints they found–”

“–not making any sense.”

“–belonged to the lad who was found in the river.  It was–”

James slammed his fist against the table.  “Robbie, stop!”

“–his car.  We think whoever struck you also killed him.”

James’s head was spinning.  Robbie couldn’t – or wouldn’t – hear him.  Robbie reached over and took James’s hand between his.  James didn’t feel anything.  No warmth, no pressure.  He could see Robbie gently massaging his fingers, yet there was no sensation.

“James, love,” Robbie whispered.  “I promise we’ll find him.  I need you to fight.  I need you to come back to me.”

James struggled to grasp Robbie’s words.  In an instant, the room felt airless and began to close in, suffocating him.  Simultaneously, sirens and alarms exploded all around.

Robbie was abruptly pulled away from him, though James saw no one else in the room.  He could see Lewis shouting “no” over and over.  Where Robbie had been there was a burst of muted colour and rapid movement, further confusing and terrifying James.  He tried to reach out, to take hold of anything within arm’s reach.  His body refused to respond.

“ROBBIE!”

His voice echoed through his head as the darkness closed around him again.

 

* * *

 

“You have to come away, Robbie.”  It took every ounce of determination and strength Laura had to pull Robbie from James’s bedside and out of the room.  They looked back into the Intensive Care Unit.  “There's nothing more you or I can do.”

“You’re a bloody doctor!  You _can_ do something.”  He spat the accusation at her.  Laura knew he didn’t mean it.  He’d been angry since they’d witnessed the hit and run; it was his anger that had kept him going.  Laura had fought to reign in her own feelings for Robbie’s sake.  She held his gaze.  As his anger finally gave way to grief, she wrapped her arms around him and held him.

Her eyes fell on the flowers on the bedside cabinet.  She’d been surprised when Robbie had brought the first arrangement and the simple white vase into the hospital.

“The lass in the shop said chrysanthemums represented optimism and joy.  James’ll know that.  I want him to see something positive when he wakes.”

Laura had brought in a small police teddy the next day.

Robbie had replaced the flowers twice a week: always chrysanthemums and baby’s breath.

Laura slowly led Robbie to the chairs beside the nurses’ station.  “James is getting the best care possible – the staff here will do everything they can for him, and you have to trust them to do their jobs,” she murmured.  _But James has to want to come back._

Beyond the doors, the medical team continued to work furiously to stabilise James again.  Laura closed her eyes and prayed.

 

* * *

 

James’s head throbbed.  He cautiously opened one eye.  When the light from the window opposite didn’t set him off moaning, he opened the other eye.  This had to be the worst hangover he’d had since…  He held his breath, closed his eyes, and listened.

_Beep…beep…beep…_

His heart stuttered in his chest and then accelerated rapidly.  James threw himself towards the bedside table, knocking a box of co-codamol and a bottle of water to the floor.  He tumbled out of bed onto his knees.  His fingers grasped uselessly at the carpet.  Somewhere just beyond his attention, the beeps turned to strident tones.

James pulled himself to his feet by grabbing fistfuls of the bedclothes.  “Chrysanthemums, baby’s breath, bear,” he mumbled.  He forced himself to look at the chest of drawers.  The vase stood in the centre, with the small uniformed bear beside it.

He felt his chest tighten and his breath caught in his throat.

“No.  Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” he whimpered.

James fell against the doorframe as he stumbled his way to the kitchen.  He grabbed at the empty coat hook.  A single set of breakfast dishes sat on draining board.  Now James could hear new alarms.  Light flared behind his eyes and he fell to his knees.

“Robbie?” he whimpered to the empty flat.  “I want to come home.”

 

-o0o-

**Author's Note:**

> There may or may not be a major character death. It is deliberately open to interpretation.


End file.
